The Show Goes On
by The Impala
Summary: As Christmas nears, the team investigates the murder of a naval officer. Only as the case progresses and the body count rises, the team realizes nothing is as it seems. Meanwhile, Abby decides to spread the joy of the seasons to her co-workers.
1. Act I

**Disclaimer: **We do not own NCIS. We do not own the television show produced by Don Bellasario or any of the characters, events, and storylines depicted therein, nor do we own the agency called NCIS which we assume is a real agency existing in the United States, a country in which we also do not reside and do not own. In fact, we do not own any countries. Also, we do not own anything that may for any reason resemble the writings of William Shakespeare. We do not even own our own house. This concludes our very long and excessive obligatory disclaimer for this chapter.

WARNING: contains death, weird naming schemes, Jenny/Gibbs, more death, Tiva, death, unrealistic timelines, death, Christmas in June, and Romeo and Juliet!

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A C T I

s c e n e i

Tsukisuki's Asian Style Cuisine was a modest little restaurant on the wayside of town, the interior of which was currently decorated in dozens of twinkling little white lights and strings of silver and gold tinsel. A tiny lop-sided Christmas tree sat in a pot on the front counter beside the hostess, who smiled nearly as brightly as the lights at any and all customers who walked through the door – currently, that was no one.

In fact, the small restaurant was seeing very little business tonight, a sad tradition for this time of year. Despite the decorations and the bubbly hostess, Tsukisuki's Asian Style Cuisine did not boast an especially festive atmosphere.

But this did not deter former Commander Mac Scott, now Captain, and his buddy Lieutenant-Commander Quinn Banks from waltzing into the dingy restaurant after shift and staying an extra hour after their meal to laugh over drinks. Captain Scott was still riding on the thrill of his recent promotion and Banks was swept along with him with the help of a shot or two. Even the slightly creepy twin waitresses who appeared in matching green and red frocks to serve them the bill and fortune cookies could not sink their mood.

"I'm telling you Banks, the cookies at this place are really something."

"You don't say?" Banks remarked dryly, glancing over Scott's shoulder at the hostess, who was boucing lightly on the balls of her feet and looking somewhat bored.

"No, I mean it," Scott insisted. His voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Just last week I came here, I got a fortune telling me I would advance in my career. How's that for prophetic? Huh?"

Banks snorted. "Coincidence. They all say crap like that."

Scott continued grinning as he cracked his cookie open. He pried out the little slip of paper and read it slowly. "_Your good luck will continue until you are where you want to be_. How's that? It's like it knew my last fortune came true!"

"I think you need to lay off the gin," Banks told him seriously. Then he grinned and smashed his own cookie on the table, sending fragments of cookie crumbs everywhere.

One of the twins glared at him from the kitchen, but he didn't notice.

Banks held up his own fortune and read out, "_Your children will achieve what you cannot_. Ha! So basically, if I ever screw-up, Freddie'll fix it for me."

"Poor kid," Scott said emphatically, "He's got his work cut out for him already."

Banks reached over the table to cuff the Captain's arm, and ended up knocking a bottle of soy sauce to the floor. The two naval officers hardly noticed, already descending into raucous drunken, laughter. The twins appeared once more to take their bill and subtlely usher them out the door.

Captain Scott was clearly confident of his luck, cryptic fortune cookie or no, because he invited all his shipmates and their families over to his house in a thinly-veiled celebration of his promotion masquerading as a Christmas party. Having no children of their own, Scott and his wife were able to devote a generous portion of their house to entertaining guests, and Mrs. Scott ordered an impressive dinner through a fancy catering company. If any of his colleagues thought he was showing off, they kept their disgruntled remarks to themselves.

Banks was there with his son Freddie, a hyperactive four-year-old who easily made the heart of the party until he fell asleep on a sofa just before eight. Once he was out, drinks were popped open and the adults, with a couple of bored teenagers, carried on the party until well after midnight.

The festivities ended abruptly at two-twenty that morning with Mrs. Scott's screams.

Lieutenant Duff was the first to rush upstairs to see what was going on, but Mrs. Scott was hysterical.

"He's dead!" she screamed, waving wildly at the open bedroom door. "Oh my god, he's dead! He's dead!" This was all that could be gotten from her before she gave a short sob and fainted.

Looking into the room, Duff saw immediately what she was talking about. A body lay sprawled across the bed in a tangle of bloodied sheets, having been stabbed several times. It was a man whom Duff recognised all too well. He backed away from the door, face pale.

"What's going on?" One of the admiral's teenage sons had bounded up the stairs, stopping just short of Mrs. Scott's prone form on the floor, eyes wide.

"Get out! Don't come in here!" Duff roared, panic making him shout louder than he meant to. "Get Captain Scott!"

The boy didn't need to. A crowd was already forming at the end of the hall and Captain Scott was pushing his way to the front.

"Kevin! What the hell is— Beth? Beth!"

"She's fine, sir. She fainted," Duff assured him. He pulled Scott aside and whispered urgently. "Sir, it's the admiral. He's been murdered."

The colour seemed to drain from Scott's face, and for a moment he didn't say anything. Finally he mustered a feeble, "Are you sure? How can he be – maybe he's not – we need to call the hospital."

By this time Lieutenant-Commander Banks and the rest of the men in the crew had made their way to the top of the stairs. Lieutenant Duff shook his head grimly, and though looking a little sick himself, lead Scott into the bedroom. The captain gave a small cry and rushed to the admiral's side, turning him over and trying to rececitate him.

"Are you crazy!" Lieutenant Duff hissed, prying him away from the body. "He's dead! We can't touch him – it's a crime scene now!"

He turned to Banks who had just entered the room with a horrified expression.

"Call NCIS."

A C T I

s c e n e ii

Abigail Sciuto bounced eagerly into the NCIS bullpen and dropped into Tony's empty chair. "Hi Ziva!" she called out, greeting the sole member of Gibbs' team present.

"Good morning Abby," Ziva replied looking up from her desk, and giving the hyper tech a questioning look. "What brings you up here?"

"Don't you know what today is, Ziva?" Abby asked incredulously, as she began to spin slowly in the chair.

Ziva tilted her head to one side at the strange question. "Thursday?" she replied.

Abby shook her head, causing her pigtails to swing wildly. "No, Ziva," she said, before pausing. "Well, okay, it _is _Thursday. But that's not what I meant! Today's the day the boys come back."

"Ah, of course," Ziva replied, before returning her attention back to the paper work on her desk.

Abby brought the chair to a halt and looked at Ziva darkly, "Don't tell me you didn't miss them," she demanded. "It just isn't the same around here without them. It's been so quiet."

"I know," Ziva replied happily. "An entire week without Tony's constant chattering, without his juvenile little games, and most wonderfully of all, without his stupid pranks. It has been heaven."

"Ziva," Abby said tossing a pen from Tony's desk her way. "How can you even say that!"

Easily catching the pen out of the air, Ziva just smirked. Behind her, the elevator dinged and Abby jumped out of her chair.

"Gibbs!" she squealed rushing forward to greet him. "You're back!" Before he had any chance to return her greeting she bounded past him and flung her arms around Tony. "I missed you Tony! Ziva did too."

Still seated at her desk, Ziva snorted loudly. "Like one misses a tooth canal," she replied sardonically.

"Root canal, Zee-va," Tony corrected once Abby had let go of him to hug McGee.

"Whatever," she mumbled, "I'd sooner have one than continue this conversation."

Tony flashed her a grin, as he dropped into his chair, "Just admit it Ziva, you're lost without me."

"Oh, of course, I have been so desperately lost all week," Ziva told him seriously, "Utterly lost as to what to do with all the spare time I had, seeing as I actually managed to work while you were gone."

Tony opened his mouth to respond but a glare from Gibbs changed his mind. "Shutting up now, Boss."

"David, report," Gibbs barked as he settled at his own desk.

Ziva stood up and stopped by Gibbs' desk. "While you three were off at training, I have spent the last week filing backlogged paper-work. Mostly Tony's," she added. "I still do not understand why I got stuck here."

"Well, Officer David," Gibbs replied glancing up, "seeing as we spent the last week at a mandatory NCIS agent training seminar, and seeing as you are not an NCIS agent . . ." he let his statement hang until Ziva nodded and headed back to her desk.

"Agent Gibbs," the director of NCIS, Jenny Shepard, called from the landing half-way down the stairs. "I see your team is back from the training seminar." Gibbs' only response was a look that clearly said 'ya-think?' so Jenny continued, "Logan's team was called out last night, a Vice Admiral was killed, but his team's already got a full load so I'm passing it off to you. You can get the preliminaries from Logan and the body is down in autopsy."

Gibbs nodded to the rest of the team, who immediately jumped up to do whatever it was they were supposed to be doing as if he had telepathically ordered them to. He then walked briskly across the bullpen and into the elevator, presumably on his way to autopsy.

As soon as he was gone and the director was back in her office, Abby turned to the rest of the team and rubbed her hands, a cheeky gleam in her eye. "Who else saw that look Gibbs just gave the director?"

"What, you mean that very annoyed, 'I'd head-slap you if you weren't my boss' look?" Tony quipped.

"No, Tony! He was looking at her like a man in love – like he hadn't seen Jenny in a thousand years."

Tony took a step back. "Okay, Abs. You've been hitting the Caf-Pow a little too hard today."

"I haven't had any!" Abby insisted, eyes wide with genuinely fake sincerity. "Besides, you know those two have a history. And what better time for them to reconcile than Christmas? They totally need to get together."

"I repeat: Too much Caf-Pow."

Abby narrowed her eyes and pouted. "Fine! I'll see you later, Scrooge." She marched to the elevator, turning to glare at Tony as she waited for the doors to open.

"Cause of death was multiple stab wounds to the chest," Dr. Donald Mallard informed Gibbs, just as Abby exited the elevator and entered the autopsy room.

"You got something for me, Abs?" Gibbs asked her.

"No," said Abby cheerfully, "I just came to collect trace on the body from Ducky, since he hasn't sent it to me yet."

Dr. "Ducky" Mallard looked terribly confused. "But I—"

"You haven't sent it to me yet," Abby repeated firmly.

Gibbs ignored them both. "Weapon?" he prompted Ducky, turning back to the body of the deceased Vice-Admiral lying on the autopsy table.

"Appears to be a blade," Ducky replied, regaining his composure, "Judging from the size of the wound I'd say a standard size kitchen knife. There are few defensive wounds on his hands or arms, suggesting that he may not have had time to fight back."

Gibbs nodded. "He knew his attacker."

"Quite possibly," Ducky agreed. "Whoever it was who murdered our poor admiral, he certainly was not expecting it."

He looked up, waiting for Gibbs to reply, only to discover that Gibbs had gone.

No sooner had this registered, when he was almost instantly ambushed by Abby.

"Ducky! You have to help me. We need to set up Gibbs and the director!"

"What are you talking about, Abigail? And why on earth would you tell Gibbs that I hadn't sent you anything? I sent you hair fibers and trace from under the victim's fingernails as well as blood samples—"

Abby waved him off. "Oh, I know all that, Ducky. I had to throw Gibbs off! I can't let him know about our secret plot."

"What secret plot?" Ducky asked in utter bewilderment.

"Gibbs! And Jenny! They're in love."

"Are they? Well, that's wonderful news. I'm very happy for them."

Abby groaned. "No, Ducky. They're in love, but _they don't know they're in love_. That's why we have to help them! We have to make them see they're meant to be together, and we have to do it before Christmas."

Ducky raised an eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

"Because it's Christmas!" Abby said, as if this statement cemented her argument so solidly no come-back or counter-argument could be made.

And indeed, Ducky could think of nothing to say.

ACT I

s c e n e iii

"Logan's team interviewed everyone at the house," Tony explained to Gibbs upon his return to the bullpen. "Vice-Admiral King's body was found by the host's wife, Beth Scott. They didn't get much out of questioning her – apparently she was hysterical."

"One of the admiral's sons mentioned that his father left the main room to go to the bathroom. He was only gone ten minutes before the wife started screaming," Ziva added.

Gibbs nodded. "Did they release the crime scene yet?"

Tony and Ziva simultaneously shook their heads, caught each others gaze and glared at one another.

McGee spoke up, "Logan already sent all evidence he collected down to Abby's lab, Boss. I have his folder with all the crime scene photos and his team's notes. The knife used to stab Vice-Admiral King was never found."

Nodding once again, Gibbs brushed past the rest of his team on the way to the elevator. "Grab your gear. DiNozzo, you're with me. David and McGee, go see the Vice-Admiral's family and see what you can find out."

"Where are we going, Boss?" Tony asked hopefully, but the only response he got was a pointed look.

He soon found out when they arrived at the hotel where Captain Scott and his wife were staying until their home was released. Apparently, Gibbs had expected the wife to be over her hysteria now that several hours had passed since the murder, but it seemed that was not the case. Throughout the interview she was constantly bordering on tears, looking pale and about to faint.

Gibbs turned to her husband instead.

"I can't imagine who could have done it," Captain Scott said sombrely, looking very nearly as shaken as his wife, if holding it together slightly better. "The whole crew was there, and none of them would have. . . well, I saw them! I was with the other men the whole time. . . someone must have broken in. . . it's all my fault. . . my house, my fault."

"In our own home," Mrs. Scott said tearfully, "It's terrible. . ."

"And the rest of your crew can verify that you were in the main room the entire time?" Gibbs prompted.

The captain looked up, startled for a few moments, before finally answering distractedly. "Yes. Yes, of course. Ask any of them."

Tony studied him. "We understand that you moved the body before NCIS arrived?"

Captain Scott looked between the two of them guiltily. "Yeah. . . I did. I know I shouldn't have. . . it's just when I saw him. . . I wanted to. . . I thought I could—help. You. . . You haven't lost any important evidence because of what I did? Oh god, I'm such an idiot!"

"We don't know," Gibbs said shortly as the captain buried his head in his hands. "But we will find out who did this."

The captain gripped his wife's hand and said nothing. Gibbs frowned slightly, reached into his pocket and handed Tony his cell phone. "Fix this," he muttered.

"Boss," Tony said uncertainly, trying to keep his voice hushed and steadily serious, lest he laugh at the great and terrible Leroy Jethro Gibbs and wind up with a fresh bruise on the back of his head. "It's just vibrating. It means you have a call?"

Gibbs shot a glare at him, which Tony immediately interpreted as an order to "Answer the damn call, then." He stood up as smoothly as he could manage and smiled lightly at the distraught couple, before waltzing a few paces down the hall to answer the phone.

It was a testament to how often he did this that he knew the buttons as well as his own phone.

"Gibbs," Ziva's clipped voice said on the other line, "We have a problem."

"Ziva?" Tony said before he could stop himself.

There was a pause.

Then, "Tony? Why are you answering Gibbs's cell phone?"

"What can I say? The boss-man trusts me. I am the senior v_ery_ special agent. So, what's your problem?"

"Oh, _my_ problem is that I am now stuck talking to you. As for our problem, it seems that both the vice-admiral's sons have vanished. We searched the house, but it looks like they packed and left in a hurry, probably earlier this morning."

"Right. I'll tell Gibbs."

"Ah, that's it!" Ziva said suddenly, with an air of triumph in her voice. "I get why you are answering his calls. You are his little pet grocer, yes?"

It took Tony a bit longer than usual to catch that one, possibly because his mind was busy stumbling over the ugly implications of being Gibb's little pet anything. "Gofer, Ziva. As in, to 'go for' something?"

"Whatever," Ziva replied, and promptly ended the call.

"Charming as ever," Tony muttered to himself as he walked back into the other room. He was just in time to catch what seemed to be the wrap-up of the interview. The captain was looking pleadingly with Gibbs.

"Duncan was my commanding officer, but he was also. . . a friend. If there's anything – anything I can do to help, please let me know."

Gibbs nodded curtly, and gestured to Tony that it was time for them to leave. Tony smiled once again at the couple as they excused themselves, and once they were outside he gave Gibbs the news from Ziva's call.

"Boss, we've got a problem. Ziva called from the admiral's place, and she says Malcolm and Donald King are both missing."

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~tbc~


	2. Act II

**Disclaimer: **We really don't own NCIS (which might really be a good thing. . . ) Also we don't own Shakespeare's work, since it was kinda written way, way before we were even born.

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A C T II

s c e n e i

"Well?" Gibbs demanded as he strode into the bullpen, Tony in tow.

"It's like they've disappeared Boss," McGee replied, looking up from his desk. Gibbs just glared at him and he quickly added, "but they have to be somewhere, and so we'll find them."

"Since their mother died several years ago, the boys have been declared the sole beneficiaries of Admiral King's estate," Ziva informed them.

"So, they decide to off their old man at a Christmas party?" Tony asked skeptically as he settled into his chair.

"Perhaps they believed that the suspicion would fall on one of the Admiral's colleagues," Ziva said with a shrug.

"Ziva go talk to their friends, family, hell, everyone they know," Gibbs barked, "and take DiNozzo with you."

Tony made a face, "Aw, come on boss," he moaned. "Do I have to go with _her? _I'll do anything else you want. I'll run their credit cards, phone records, go down to Abby's and listen to her techno-babble, fetch you a toothpick from the farthest—"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs snapped cutting him off. "Why the hell would I want a toothpick?"

Tony paused and tilted his head in confusion. "I, uh, I don't really know Boss," he replied after a moment, still sitting at his desk.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked pointing in the direction of the elevator.

"Right Boss. Going," Tony replied jumping up, and gathered his gear.

"And when you're done DiNozzo, you can go down to Abby's and listen to her techno-babble!" Gibbs yelled after him.

Tony sighed and glared at Ziva as he reached the elevator. "I'm driving," he announced.

"Really?" Ziva asked innocently, "And how do you plan on doing that?" she questioned, as she twirled the keys around her finger.

Ziva easily pulled the keys back, as Tony made a predictable grab for them, and giving him a satisfied smirk she dropped them into her pocket.

It was several hours before they returned to NCIS, and they had gathered very little new information, as no one had seen or heard from the King boys since their father's murder. Both agents were starting to get a little frustrated, and as a result were bickering. Again. Or rather, still, seeing as they had been arguing on and off all afternoon about Ziva's driving.

"We are alive, are we not?" Ziva demanded as they stepped back into the elevator upon their return.

"Barely," Tony replied flippantly, pressing the button for Abby's lab. He moved to lean against the back of the elevator.

"Had you driven, we would still be out doing interviews," Ziva added.

"At least I know what it means when the little light turns red, Zee-va."

Ziva glared at him, but did not respond as the elevator dinged and opened. As usual music was playing from inside Abby's lab, only this time it was some strange christmassy-metal piece. The fact the such music existed disturbed Tony a little.

Tony and Ziva were half way through the door when Abby halted them with a raised hand.

"Abbs?" Tony asked.

She gestured upwards, and Tony tilted his head back to find a piece of mistletoe hanging above his head. He looked back at Abby, then to Ziva next to him.

"I do not think so," Ziva said shortly, stepping through the doorway.

"Yeah, never know where she's been." Tony added easily, as he pushed past Ziva into the lab.

Abby pouted, "You guys, you're so 'Ba-humbug'."

Ziva raised an eyebrow questioningly. "How can I be a 'humbug' for not taking part in traditions that are part of a holiday I do not even celebrate?" she asked.

Abby cocked her head appearing to give the matter careful thought. "I don't know," she said at last, "But you are." With that, she spun around to face her computer. "So, what do you want to hear about first?"

"Everything Abby," Tony replied coming to stand next to her at the computer. "We've hit a dead end here."

Abby raised her eyebrows like she was about to make a snide comment – probably something along the lines of their matching dead Christmas-spirit – but she chose to simply delve into the evidence instead.

"Well, your admiral had a blood alcohol content of .24 percent, and for his size that means he would have been completely drunk when he died. I'd be surprised if he could stand up on his own."

"That could explain why he did not fight back," Ziva commented thoughtfully.

Tony frowned. "Doesn't that sort of beg the question as to how he got out of the main party room and into the bedroom in the first place? I mean, if the guy was hammered and about to crash, how'd he make it up the stairs?"

"Perhaps his murderer helped him along," Ziva suggested.

Tony rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "His son said he saw the admiral go upstairs alone and no one else saw the man leave. . . how convenient."

He was disappointed to find that neither Ziva nor Abby looked impressed by his deduction.

"I've got more guys," Abby chirped cheerfully, preventing any awkward silence from pentrating the lab. For, as it was well known, awkward silences of any shape or form were absolutely not allowed in Abby's lab. "There were fingerprints in the blood on the admiral's arms and shirt. I ran them and they came up a match to recently promoted Captain Mac Scott."

"Doesn't help us," Tony said dismissively, "Captain Scott already admitted to touching the body before NCIS arrived."

Abby was not deterred. "But I have more!" she insisted eagerly, "There was another set of fingerprints pulled from the blood in the bedsheets near the admiral's body. I ran them against the prints initially collected from witnesses at the house by Logan's team, and guess what?"

There was a brief pause before Tony picked up on the cue and was spared her wrath by guessing. "They belong to to one of the admiral's sons?"

"Wrong!" said Abby with gusto. It seemed she had been waiting for him to say something like that. "They belong to Captain Scott's wife."

Tony and Ziva exchanged surprised looks, but then Ziva said, "Mrs. Scott was the one who found the body. It is possible she touched it too, and neglected to inform us."

"Couldn't hurt to talk to her again," Tony mused. "Let's go tell Gibbs." He nodded briefly to Abby as Ziva turned to leave. "Thanks, Abs."

Abby frowned, her dark lips pushing out in something of a pout. "That's all I get? You guys really are grinches!"

Tony shook his head, grinning. "Really? In that case, maybe I'll just keep this to myself." And somehow, he pulled a giant red and white Caf-Pow cup from behind his back.

Abby's eyes went wide and she grinned even wider. "How did you hide that? That was so sneaky – it was almost _Gibbs_-style sneaky."

"I have my ways," Tony said mysteriously, but the effect he was going for was ultimately ruined when Ziva called from the door.

"He stole that one from your fridge, Abby."

"Tony!"

Abby's eyes narrowed into a deadly glare, and Tony nearly sprinted from her lab to get away. He knocked the mistletoe to the floor on his way out.

A C T II

s c e n e ii

"Grab your gear," Gibbs called dropping his desk phone into place just as Ziva and Tony arrived back in the bullpen.

"Where are we going?" Ziva questioned as she grabbed her gear.

"Lieutenant-Commander Banks' body was just found in his home. Stabbed."

"He was one of the admiral's men wasn't he?" Tony asked catching up with Gibbs who was already half way to the elevator.

Gibbs just nodded tersely as he punched the button for the elevator much harder than necessary. "The ex-wife called it in when she stopped by to pick up her son."

Tony grimaced. "The boy?" he asked.

"They haven't been able to find him," Gibbs replied darkly.

"Kidnapping?" Ziva wondered aloud, as the elevator arrived with a ding.

Neither Gibbs nor Tony had an answer for her.

It was not long before they arrived at the scene, mostly due to Gibbs' driving which even Tony admitted was worse than Ziva's. Once there, it took even less time for Gibbs to go into full pissed-off-agent mode as he quickly tossed the responding cops onto the street and away from his crime scene.

Sending Tony to deal with taking the distraught mother's statement, he instructed McGee and Ziva to begin working the scene in the living room, where Banks's body lay in a dark blood pool, while he waited for Ducky to arrive.

Due to the fact that Ducky was driving, and because Ducky was not Gibbs, coupled with the fact the Palmer was likely navigating, Gibbs estimated it would be nearly twenty minutes before the autopsy van pulled up in front of the house. So while his team handled the evidence he headed to the second floor to look around the lieutenant-commander's home.

It was in the hall between the master bed room and the missing boy's room that Gibbs was sure he heard a muffled sound. Stopping in the hall, he looked around, there had been nothing in the master bed room, as far as Gibbs could tell, so he quickly moved into the boy's bedroom.

It was about what one would expect in a four-year-old's room. The walls were a deep blue and an assortment of toys were scattered about the floor. A red toy chest sat in one corner of the room and, besides the closet which stood open, it seemed to be the only possible hiding place in the room.

Gibbs quickly covered the distance across the room and opened the toy box expectantly. Inside a variety of plastic cars and several stuffed animals greeted him, and Gibbs could not help but feel the sting of disappointment, not that he showed any outward sign of it. Sighing he turned to head back downstairs to see if Ducky had arrived.

He was half way back to the stairs when he passed the narrow linen closet in the hall for the second time. Stopping, Gibbs moved back until he was in front of the door, and then he heard the same muffled sound.

Slowly opening the closet door, he knelt down so he could see the bottom shelf. There, nestled between the towels was the missing Freddie Banks, his eyes red rimmed with tears, and his small thumb in his mouth half-silencing his sobs.

"Hey there," Gibbs said, speaking quietly so as not to startle the poor boy. "It's okay," he added. The boy just stared at him and sniffed loudly, so Gibbs continued, "Your mom's just outside, she's been looking for you."

This seemed to get the boy's attention, as he withdrew his thumb from his mouth, but still remained silent. Finally, after a long moment he crawled out of the closet and then buried his tear stained face in Gibbs' shirt.

Gently, Gibbs lifted the boy into his arms, and carried him downstairs. Checking carefully that his little charge wasn't looking, Gibbs slipped past the living room, and soon had the boy outside and handed off to his waiting mother.

"He say anything Boss?" Tony asked keeping his voice low as they moved away from the little reunion.

Gibbs shook his head, and glanced back toward the boy. "I get the feeling he saw something though."

"There does not appear to be signs of forced entry," Ziva reported, coming up to the other two agents. "It would seem that whoever attacked the lieutenant-commander was let into the house."

"Well, we may have a witness," said Tony, glancing sidelong at the boy who was being held by his mother. Once the they had both calmed down somewhat, Gibbs rejoined the two of them, crouching down so that he was at the four-year-old's eye level.

"Hey buddy." The child looked at him, eyes dry but red-rimmed, and said nothing. Gibbs didn't expect him to talk, not yet - maybe not for a while. But hopefully, he could still tell them something. "We want to catch the bad guy who did this," he told Freddie seriously, "Would you like to come down to our office and help us?" He glanced briefly up at the mother as some form of asking permission, and she looked down at her son.

"You don't have to, Freddie," she said.

But the boy nodded, staring wordlessly at Gibbs. Gibbs worked out a small smile for the kid, and dug into his pocket for his badge. "Here, why don't you hang on to this for me for now, for being so brave. When you get down to our office, we can see about getting you a badge of your own."

The boy took the badge and looked at it, while Gibbs stood up and gave directions to his mother. He strode back to the house where his team seemed to have finished gathering evidence.

"Boss," McGee called, having joined the other two at their impromptu convening spot outside the deceased lieutenant-commander's house. "The APB just came back on the admiral's sons. The local police picked up Donald King at a station in Halifax. He was trying to catch a Greyhound to Carolina."

Gibbs's face hardened. With hardly a beckoning gesture, he turned and made a beeline for the sedan just as the autopsy van came trundling down the road.

"We'll meet you back at the office, Ducky!" Tony called.

Ducky and his assistant Jimmy Palmer glanced at each other as the rest of the team drove off, and Ducky raised and eyebrow.

"Do you get the feeling that we missed something, Mr. Palmer?"

A C T II

s c e n e iii

The local police had Donald King dropped off at NCIS headquarters, and no sooner had Gibbs arrived than the seventeen-year-old was thrust into the interrogation room.

"Where is your brother?" he demanded, relatively calmly given how incredibly pissed-off his team knew him to be.

Donald King merely shook his head. He might have meant to say something, but the words seem to die in his throat at the sight of Gibbs's face.

"Why did you run?" Gibbs demanded, slamming his hands down on the metal table between them. The teenager visibly flinched. This was more the reaction Tony and Ziva had been expecting, as they watched the interrogation from the observation room. Agent McGee, of course, had been assigned the more important task of getting updates from Abby.

Donald's voice quivered as he tried to answer. "I didn't – Dad – we had to..."

"You listen to me," Gibbs said sternly, dropping his folder on the table but not yet producing pictures. "You might think you can get off on this because you're underage – and maybe you can – but your brother is nineteen so when we find him, and we _will_ find him, he is going down for two counts of murder—" the boy looked up, startled, but Gibbs went on, "—unless you tell me what the hell is going on."

"W-what do you mean two? Someone else is dead?"

Gibbs only glared at him. The kid shrunk in his seat.

"Y-you guys don't really think. . .? Listen, Malcolm d-didn't kill Dad."

Gibbs continued to glare.

"He said – he said someone had been threatening Dad, and that we were next, so we had to run. I – that's the only reason we left. He said the feds wouldn't understand. . ."

"Where is he now?" Gibbs asked sharply.

"I don't know. He told me to get to Carolina and stay with our Aunt for a while, and he'd meet me once he'd cleared some things up," the kid told him helplessly. "He kept saying he didn't want me to know too much in case that put me in more danger."

"Or so you couldn't rat him out while he went off to kill one of your father's men," Tony commented from observation, despite being well-aware that Donald King had no way of hearing him.

"You think it is possible the older brother is the only one involved?" Ziva questioned.

"I think it's quite impossible that the kid was in the area at the time Banks was murdered, that's all," said Tony. "We picked him up in Halifax, remember, Zee-vah?"

When they looked back however, they saw the kid sitting alone in the interrogation room, head buried in his hands. Gibbs had already left. With barely a glance at each other, Tony and Ziva rushed back to the bullpen to meet him. McGee was already there.

"Abby says that no DNA or prints found from the crime scene matches either of the King boys," he relayed to Gibbs. "She did, however, find a match to both Captain Scott and Lieutenant Duff on prints in the doorway and on the bottles found in the living room."

Gibbs nodded. "Let's go," he said tersely, but he hadn't even turned to head to the elevator when it opened and Freddie Banks and his mother arrived. With a glance at his team, Gibbs sent them on without him.

As the elevator doors slid shut, blocking the bullpen from sight Tony turned to Ziva, a wide grin on his face. She fixed him with a look, "What?" she asked, clearly not sure she wanted to know.

"Oh, nothing, Zee-va," Tony replied cheerfully.

Ziva narrowed her eyes dangerously, but said nothing, futilely believing that would end whatever game DiNozzo was up to now.

Instead Tony just smirked wider and leaned against the back of the elevator in his overly cocky playboy way.

Pointedly Ziva turned away, intent on ignoring him, only he started humming the theme to some obnoxious movie. At least that is what Ziva assumed he was humming. Rounding on him she glared, "What?"

Behind her the elevator doors slid open and Tony brushed past her into the parkade. Annoyed, Ziva followed, McGee trailed behind them both, wisely staying out of whatever was going on between them now.

They reached the sedan and Ziva headed for the driver's side, reaching into her coat pocket for the keys, only to come up short as she realized they were missing. She frowned, confused as she checked her other pocket, sure she had left them in her coat.

Behind her Tony cleared his throat loudly, and she turned to look. He held out the keys tauntingly. "This time, I drive," He said moving past her to open the driver's door.

Ziva glared at him, but after a moment stormed over to the passenger side and got in. McGee slipped quietly in the back.

A C T II

s c e n e iv

They arrived at Lieutenant Duff's house first. The driveway was empty and no answer came when they knocked on the door.

"Looks like nobody's in," Tony commented, searching round for any likely candidates to be hiding a spare key. He knelt down to reach under the welcome mat and only just barely pulled his hand out of the way in time as Ziva nearly stepped on it.

"Ziva!" he hissed, "That was my hand!"

"Perhaps you should not be crawling about in the dirt like a rat – oh wait. That _is_ what you are."

"I was looking for a spare key, Miss David," Tony snapped. "Or would you rather use your super Mossad assassin ninja skills to break in and set off an alarm?"

"Actually," McGee called, clearing his throat to get their attention, "The door's unlocked. . ."

Tony and Ziva glanced at each other with expressions of surprise and confusion. Quietly, they each pulled out their firearms and entered the house.

"Lieutenant Kevin Duff?" Tony called, "This is NCIS."

No one answered. The three agents prepared to split up and search the building when Ziva gestured to get Tony and McGee's attention. There was a smear of blood on the wall leading to the living room.

Cautiously, they followed it.

Only to come across three more bodies.

"Damn, the bodies are really piling up on this one," Tony said, without a trace of his usual humour in his voice.

Two of the bodies were women. One looked to be the lieutenant's wife, in her mid-thirties perhaps, hair still wet from a shower and an unwound towel fanning around her head. She lay in a pool of her own blood by a coffee table. Not far from her was the body of a pre-teen boy, probably her son, stabbed repeatedly. The second woman was middle-aged, wearing a housekeeper's smock. A cell phone was clutched in her hand, the emergency number half-dialled on the screen.

Tony ordered Ziva to clear the rest of the house and sent McGee to inform Gibbs and call Ducky. With a grim expression, he began snapping pictures of their newest crime scene.

* * *

~tbc~


	3. Act III

**Disclaimer:** We doth not own NCIS, nor doth we own that which was writ by Shakespeare.

* * *

A C T III

s c e n e i

To say Gibbs was angry would have been a grave understatement. They were no closer to solving the case and Ducky would soon have five bodies down in autopsy for this case alone – one of them a twelve-year-old boy. His interview with Freddie Banks had not gone very well. The boy was only four and clearly traumatized, able to tell Gibbs very little about what he may or may not have witnessed at his father's house.

The one thing he was able to identify was that neither of Duncan King's sons had been there, and that was something Gibbs felt in his gut he could agree with. So why had they run?

He stalked into Abby's lab and set a Caf-Pow on her desk expectantly.

"Gibbs!" she squealed, "You remembered! You are _so_ much better than Tony."

Gibbs really didn't have time for this, and he did his best to convey this to her by fixing her with his sternest glare. That, and yanking the Caf-Pow out of her reach when she went to grab it.

Abby pouted, but immediately launched into an explanation of all she had found out about the admiral so far. "I went through his computer records again, since Logan's team obviously didn't do a thorough job, and sure enough there are at least three months worth of threatening emails clogging up his inbox. They get increasingly squicky too, listen to this one—"

"Can you tell who sent them?" Gibbs prompted.

"Well, no," said Abby, but she quickly amended, "But of course I can tell you the email address that sent them, and since this person is such an amateur, I can track that address straight back to the computer it was sent from. Now, you'll never guess where it came from."

Gibbs's glare was steely.

"But, of course, I'm going to tell you so you don't have to guess," Abby amended cheerfully, "The emails were sent from Captain Mac Scott's home computer, and you know what else – get this, this is _really_ spooky. His wife's name is Beth. Did you know that? Mac and Beth, and Admiral_ King_ dies in their home. Isn't that weird?"

She waited for Gibbs's reaction but there was none. He had already left the lab.

A C T III

s c e n e ii

McGee, Tony and Ziva arrived at Captain's Scott's house after Lieutenant Duff's had been been cleared and marked as a crime scene. Ducky's autposy van had arrived just as they'd been leaving, although for some reason Palmer hadn't been there. Something about having had to run an errand with Agent Lee.

Like the lieutenant's house, Captain Scott's driveway was empty, and no one answered when the agents knocked on the door.

"This is not our time," Ziva muttered darkly.

"Not our _day_, Ziva," Tony corrected irritably, "This is not our _day_."

A crash from within the house interrupted them, and they glanced up searching for its source.

"Captain Scott!" Ziva shouted. "This is NCIS!"

"We have a warrant!" Tony added.

Ziva turned to him, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "When did we have time to get a warrant?"

But another crash came from inside the house, and instead of answering her Tony pushed her aside and kicked down the door. The three agents filed into the house, guns drawn, and followed the source of the noise up to the second floor bedroom – the same room where Admiral King's body had been found.

There they found Beth Scott, lady of the house, dressed in only a thin nightgown. She paced back and forth in front of them, wringing her hands. The dresser across the room had been overturned and pieces of shattered glass from a broken mirror littered the floor. Beth walked over them as if they weren't there, her feet bloody from hundreds of tiny cuts.

"Out! OUT!" she shrieked, clutching one hand in the other.

"Mrs. Scott? We are from NCIS," Ziva called, trying to get her attention. "We are not here to harm you. You must calm down."

"_Get out_!"

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," Tony called, "Remember me? Special Agent Gibbs and I talked to you and your husband."

At this Mrs. Scott let out a high-pitched wail, and fell toward her bed, grabbing fistfuls of bedsheets and ripping them out. "They're not clean! I have to clean them! Oh, they'll never be clean. . . so much blood. . . who would have thought the old man would have so much blood in him?"

Tony lowered his gun and took a few tentative steps forward. "Mrs. Scott, I just want you to listen to me, okay?" He reached out to touch her shoulder, but this appeared to be a mistake. Mrs. Scott jerked back from him.

"No! They're dead! The king's dead. The banker's dead. All's dead. Mac killed them. We killed them. No one knows but me. . . and now. . . here's a spot!" She rubbed her hands furiously on her nightgown as if trying to rub something off.

"You admit that you and your husband killed Admiral King?" Ziva asked.

"_Out damned spot!_"

"Okay then, why don't you come with us and we can sort this all out," Tony offered apprehensively, still inching toward the woman. "We can stop him before anyone else gets hurt. You can still help us."

"I do not think she can help herself right now, Tony," Ziva muttered.

"He should have listened! I wrote to him he should have listened it wouldn't have come to this he should have listened. . ."

"Where is your husband?" Ziva asked.

Mrs. Scott shook her head violently, sending her red hair whipping across her face. Without any warning she turned and ran toward the window.

"NO! Stop!" Tony shouted, dropping his gun and chasing after her.

He wasn't quite fast enough.

With a spectacular smash of glass, Beth Scott went straight through the floor-length bedroom window. She fell from view with a million tiny shards of glass caught up in her long red hair. By the time McGee and Ziva had caught up with Tony at the edge of the room, her broken body was a crumpled, bloody mess amongst the rose bushes in the garden below.

Tony blew out a heavy breath. "You were right Ziva," he said in tired voice, "This is so not our day."

A C T III

s c e n e iii

Gibbs was about three blocks from Captain Scott's house when a gunshot was fired. He turned the car around in a sweeping swerve of screeching tires just as another shot sounded. By the time a third had gone off, Gibbs had pulled up in front of Tsukisuki's Asian Style Cuisine.

He climbed out of the car, his own gun drawn, and made his way carefully toward the building. A silver sedan matching the description of Lieutenant Duff's vehicle was parked across the street, as was a green SUV that looked much like Captain Scott's. Hearing a man's shouts coming from inside the restaurant, Gibbs picked up his pace and nearly collided with a young man hurrying out of the building.

"Malcolm?" Gibbs demanded.

The man's head jolted up and Gibbs's suspicions were confirmed. Seeing his vest and weapon, the kid backed up slightly, rambling. "Duff contacted me – he said Mac Scott was the killer and asked where'd he'd go and I didn't believe it 'cuz Mac – h-he used to come hang out with me and Dad all the time but I told him, Lieutenant Duff that he started taking us out here for lunch sometimes and it was creepy and I don't know why I thought I'd come here but they – someone shot that girl and—"

"Are they in there?" Gibbs interrupted him sternly. "Are Lieutenant Duff and Captain Scott inside?"

Malcolm nodded uneasily.

"Okay. I want you to _stay out here_," Gibbs ordered him, "Do not come in, no matter what you hear. If I do not come back out in ten minutes, I want you to head over to the NCIS office and tell them what happened. Your brother is already there."

Something like relief passed over the kid's face. "Don's there? Is he okay—"

Gibbs didn't have time. He left the kid and hurried inside the restaurant, hoping to catch the lieutenant and the captain before it was too late.

The hostess by the door had been shot in the head. Her glassy black eyes staring sightlessly at Gibbs were the first things he saw as came through the door. He followed the shouting to the kitchens in the back where he found Captain Scott and Lieutenant Duff in a face off, each pointing his service weapon at the other. Two more dead women lay between them, similarly dressed in waitress uniforms. They looked like twins.

Scott had a mad gleam in his eye and a feral grin on his face, and when he spoke he listed drunkenly. "You can't kill me. . ."

"I will!" Lieutenant Duff screamed, though he merely jerked the gun forward and did not fire it.

Gibbs approached and announced his presence. "Lieutenant Duff! Captain Scott! This is NCIS. Drop your weapons!"

Scott grinned even wider, and tossed his gun lazily to the floor. "See? Don't need to do nothing. . . fortune said. . . Higher authorities will take care of it."

Lieutenant Duff glanced briefly around at Gibb's, but kept his gaze locked on Scott. "He killed my family, sir! He murdered them. . ." His voice broke and Gibbs could see his eyes fill up with unshed tears.

"We know that, lieutenant," Gibbs assured him, "We know what he did. We're here to arrest him, so he can pay for what he's done to your family, but first you need to put your weapon down."

"But that's not all he did!" Lieutenant Duff shouted, gripping his weapon tighter. "He killed the admiral and Banks too! Why? Why did you do it?"

Scott threw back his head and laughed. Then he pointed at the dead women. "Ask them. . ."

"YOU SHOT THEM!" Duff roared.

"No," Scott shook his head, "They told me the future. . . my future. . . they said I would be Admiral! They're the witches!"

"They're not witches, they're waitresses," Duff cried.

"You can't reason with him, lieutenant," Gibbs called. "He needs to be brought in so he can face justice."

But Lieutenant Duff shook his head. In that instant, Gibbs knew exactly what was coming, what Duff was about to do.

"No!" he shouted.

Before Gibbs could stop him, Lieutenant Duff fired. He shot Mac Scott six times in the chest, until the Captain's body crumpled in a bloody heap on the kitchen floor.

"He killed my family," Duff murmured as Gibbs took his weapon from his limp hands and lead him out the building. "He killed my family. . ."

As they passed by Malcolm just outside the building, Lieutenant Duff suddenly dropped to his knees. "Your father's murderer is dead," he addressed Malcolm, almost reverently.

"I see," Malcolm said, in a strangely flat voice.

If Gibbs thought anything of this odd exchange, he chose not to say so. He hoisted Duff back to his feet and lead him on to the NCIS sedan, then called Ducky and the rest of his team to arrive on the scene and tend to the bodies. Their day wasn't over yet.

A C T III

s c e n e iv

Ducky really had his doubts about this plan. In fact, he still wasn't entirely sure how he had been roped into it in the first place, but Miss Abigail Sciuto was a very persuasive young woman.

Well, scratch that euphemism – she was downright manipulative.

And so now here he stood, very far from the comfort of his autopsy room and his silent, long-dead companions, on the landing just outside the director's office. He leaned over the railing overlooking the bullpen, and was satisfied to see it for once, completely empty. Not even Gibbs was in sight.

Ducky hoped very dearly that Gibbs was not in the building at all.

At that moment, as if on cue, Jenny Shepard exited her office and entered the landing where Ducky was standing. Her red hair was combed back stiffly and she looked rather weary from the day's work.

This was likely going to make Ducky's task all the harder, but he did not shrink away from the challenge.

"Why, good evening Director," he said pleasantly, fixing her with a warm smile.

She smiled, albeit tiredly, back at him. "Good evening to yourself as well, Ducky. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Ducky said innocently. "It seems we are the last ones to leave, though, doesn't it? Well, one can sometimes get rather involved in one's work. I once had an aunt who—"

Director Shepard was clearly in no such mood for one of his intriguing tales. She held up a hand and he could almost have sworn she shushed him. "That's alright, Ducky. We've all had a long day."

Ducky smiled peaceably, however, he now had a renewed vigor in seeing his role in this little plan through. Abby may have set him upon it, but he was beginning to see that it might do the director some _good_.

Yes, perhaps it would. "Shall I walk you to your car, Jenny?" he asked, holding out his hand in offer to take her briefcase.

She regarded him at first, it seemed, with suspicion, but finally nodded. "Lead on," she said, though she refused to hand over the briefcase. Ducky was not bothered by this, he carried on cheerfully toward the parking lot with Jenny Shepard in tow.

"So," Jenny said breaking the silence that had fallen between them once the reached the elevator. "Perhaps you would like to tell me what this is about?"

Ducky graced the director with his most innocent smile – it might not be as effective as DiNozzo's, but Ducky had used it effectively in the past. "I just so happened to be working late," Ducky replied again, "But now that you mention it, I have been meaning to talk with you."

"Oh, of course," Jenny replied with a knowing look, that clearly said she did not believe him.

"You see," Ducky continued, ignoring her look, "I find my self in the unfortunate position of not having the ability to be in two places at once, and though I do dearly love the theatrical world, I must ensure Mother has the proper care."

"Doctor?" Jenny said, interrupting his rambling with a confused expression. "I'm really not sure what your talking about."

Ducky blinked momentarily losing his train of though. "Hmm? Oh why Shakespeare, of course." He replied. "A Mid Summer's Night Dream, to be precise," he added producing a ticket. "You see, I was supposed to attend, but the aide isn't available that night, and I will have to stay home with Mother."

"That's too bad Ducky," Jenny told him, confusion still evident in her tone.

"Well, yes," Ducky said wistfully, briefly wondering again why he was giving up his tickets to people he just knew would not appreciate the intricacies of Shakespeare as he would, "But I thought perhaps, that you might enjoy the production. It would certainly be a nice way to relax, we have all had so many long days lately."

Jenny blinked at him, "You wondered if I might want your ticket?" she repeated blankly, as though he had started speaking in some foreign language or something.

Ducky nodded, holding out the aforementioned ticket to her. "It really is a wonderful piece of literature," he said. Seeing the look in the director's face that suggested she was going to, very politely refuse him, he hurriedly continued. "I really can't stand to think of it going to waste, and really, I just could not imagine Mr. Palmer enjoying such an event."

Jenny smiled tightly at him, but Ducky could already see that he had won. "I really don't think I would have the time, perhaps someone else–"

"Oh nonsense," Ducky replied handing her the ticket, though she accepted it with reluctance. "I am quite sure the agency will still be functioning should you, our fine madam director, take an evening off."

"Yes," Jenny finally agreed, as they came to a stop next to her vehicle, "I suppose it would."

"Well, good night, Jenny." Ducky said cordially. "I do hope you enjoy the theatre."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you Ducky," she replied, clearly not sure exactly how she had come out of the conversation with a ticket to a Shakesperian performance.

Ducky watched as she drove away, and with a satisfied smile, headed towards his own car. His little part in young Abigail's latest whim now complete.

* * *

~tbc~


	4. Act IV

**Disclaimer: **We don't own NCIS, we also don't own Shakespear's work. Which if you've read anything he has written, and anything we have, is rather obvious.

* * *

A C T IV

s c e n e i

It was early the next morning and Ducky was just about to begin the autopsy of Captain Scott when Abby bounced into the morgue unexpectedly. Or perhaps, it was not so unexpected, as she was no doubt interested in the outcome of his chat with Director Shepard. Since the case was wrapped up, and these last autopsies was more of a formality than anything, Ducky decided to indulge her.

"Abigail," he greeted cordially. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Ducky! You know why I'm here," Abby said, her tone mock scolding. "I want to hear everything."

"I assume you are referring to my little part in your matchmaking scheme?" Ducky responded rhetorically. "Well, our dear director was somewhat reluctant, but ultimately could not resist my gracious offer."

"Yes!" Abby squealed.

"I dare say convincing Jethro will not be such an easy matter," he added.

Abby just smiled at him wickedly, "Oh, I've already taken care of Gibbs," she told him confidently.

Ducky looked at her over his glasses, surprised, "And how did you manage that?" He could not help but ask.

Looking around, as though to ensure no one was listening, Abby leaned forward and whispered, "I'll never tell." With that, she twirled around, and almost walked smack into Gibbs.

"Hi, Gibbs," Abby said smiling nervously. "What brings you down to autopsy this fine morning?"

"Checking on the lieutenant-commander," Gibbs replied with a gesture toward the body on the metal table.

"Ah right," Abby said bobbing her head up and down, "Of course, I guess I'll just let you get to it then," she said moving off toward the door.

"Abbs?" Gibbs called stopping her, he didn't say anything else, but fixed her with a questioning look, and she just knew he was asking what she had meant when she had said she'd never tell.

"Uh, it's nothing, really Gibbs," she said with a innocent smile. "Ducky was just telling me about this idea he had to get Tony and Ziva to hook up."

A C T IV

s c e n e ii

Tony was surprised to find his teammates' desks deserted when he stepped off the elevator in the morning. Sure he was a little early, but he almost never beat the very punctual McGee in, and most definitely never beat Gibbs. If he didn't know about the boat in his boss's basement, Tony would speculate that the boss-man never actually left.

Never one to get down to work before needed, Tony powered up his computer and contemplated which of the several games he had downloaded he should play. Gibbs would inevitably catch him and make him uninstall it, but that did not mean he had to give up without at least trying.

His computer loaded and Tony sat back and started up his newest flash shooting game. He was just starting to get into his game, nearing his previous best score in fact, when suddenly the entire screen went black. Tony stared at his monitor blankly for a long moment. "What the hell?" he muttered.

Not sure what else to do, computers not being his forte, Tony pressed the power button and hoped for the best. Nothing happened. Sighing, he kicked the tower lightly, not really expecting results and therefore unsurprised when the machine did not respond.

He looked around the bullpen once, no one from his team insight. Not that Ziva or Gibbs could really help him anyway. Unless he wanted Gibbs to kick his computer a second time and see if the boss-man's magic touch made a difference.

No, what he really needed was McGee. Unfortunately, the younger, more technically savvy, agent was no where to be found.

Not interested in waiting, Tony figured he couldn't really do to much damage before McGee got back so he slid off his chair and crawled under his desk. He peered at the back of the tower. A multitude of cords and wires connected to the machine and Tony started wiggling each one in turn, to ensure they were all connected.

He was about to move on to pulling random wires out and blowing on them, thinking it sometimes worked with game consoles, but was stopped by the sound of approaching voices.

"Ziva told Abby _what_?" McGee asked as the group walked by Tony's desk.

Tony was about to scramble off the floor, hoping to salvage the last of his dignity, when Ducky's response came, rooting him to the spot. "She insists that Ziva expressed deep-seated feelings for young Anthony."

They seemed to have stopped moving now, and it sounded like they were standing around Gibbs' desk. Did that mean Gibbs was there too? Tony wondered, before dismissing the idea. Gibbs would not just sit there and listen to this insanity.

"You're serious?" McGee asked, "Ziva in love with Tony? Come on. I never thought she'd be in love with anyone, most especially not DiNozzo."

"No, nor I neither, but most wonderful that she should dote on Anthony, now," Ducky continued.

"Should we tell Tony, you think?" McGee asked sounding unsure.

"Abigail thinks not."

"She's probably right," McGee agreed, "After all, it is Tony. I mean just imagine how he would hold it over her. Tormenting her with it, you know what he's like."

"Yes, Anthony can be a bit much at times, but I can see why Ziva has fallen for him. After all he is a very handsome and charming young man," Ducky remarked seemingly offhandedly.

"He does have his moments," McGee added, "And sometimes he's pretty funny. It's just too bad for Ziva that he does not feel the same. Maybe she will get over it?"

"It sounds as though it would be unlikely. Abigail tells me she has truly loved him for some time now."

"Eh, she could do better," Gibbs grunted, his voice startling Tony and causing him to whack his head on his desk.

Flinching at the sound, Tony crouched further, sure he would be discovered. However, after a moment, no one had come looking, so he relaxed slightly. He heard the sound of a chair moving, and then heard Gibbs say, "I'm going for coffee. McGee, find Ziva and DiNozzo, I want their case reports on my desk when I get back."

"Yes Boss," McGee replied.

"And I suppose I should be getting back to autopsy," Ducky murmured.

Three sets of footsteps moved away, and after waiting a moment to be extra sure, Tony crawled out from beneath his desk.

Still on the ground, Tony peeked cautiously around, ensuring everyone was in fact gone before he scrambled to his feet. "This is all just a trick," he muttered to himself. "It has to be. I mean it's not the first time, McGee and Kate did the same thing once. . . Only they knew I was there, and. . . and Gibbs. Boss was here, and he didn't dispute it."

Tony shook his head, confused. "Of course, if it was true then Gibbs would know. He always knows." Flopping down into his desk chair, Tony stared over at Ziva's currently unoccupied desk. "Then it is true. But how? I mean Ziva loves_ me_?" he wondered disbelieving.

"I never did think of settling down, but obviously I could never just have a fling with Ziva. But hey, everyone grows up sometime right? And she is so beautiful, and caring. Why, her love must be requited."

The elevator dinged, across the way and Tony looked up just as the doors opened to reveal the very woman filling his thoughts. "And here comes Ziva, she truly is a fair woman," Tony remarked aloud, then frowned and muttered under his breath, "Exactly when did I start talking to myself?"

"Hello Tony," Ziva said curtly as she sat down in her own desk across from his. "McGee has told me to inform you that Gibbs is waiting for our reports."

"Ah, how kind of you to come tell me Ziva," Tony said, flashing her his most charming smile for good measure. "I thank you for your trouble."

Absently playing with her sharp silver letter opener Ziva fixed Tony with a hard look. "It was no trouble," she told him, "If I didn't have to deliver my own report, I can assure you I would not have come."

"Ah, but you could just not have told me," Tony replied, "See, I knew you cared."

"As one cares for a tiny insect," Ziva replied, as she expertly skewered a small bug that had chosen that moment to scamper across her desk. After one last twirl of her small blade, letting the light glint of it's steel menacingly, she placed it back on her desk and reached for her report.

A C T IV

s c e n e iii

Once the bullpen was clear Jimmy Palmer climbed to the top of the stairs that overlooked it. The room was, for once, completely deserted. He cleared his throat.

"Oh Michelle, Michelle. . . Why are you an agent?"

Of course, no one was there to hear him, not even Special Agent Michelle Lee. Palmer looked over the railing and sighed in a dramatic and slightly effeminate fashion. "My enemy is only in your occupation – that which you share with such bullying buffoons as DiNozzo and McGee and that scary Mossad assassin lady – who all look down on me, the lowly 'autopsy gremlin'. But you, Michelle, you are yourself, not just some agent! For what is an 'agent'? It is not a hand, nor foot, nor any other part, belonging to a man (or a woman). Be something else! That which we call a rose—"

"Jimmy, who _are_ you talking to?

Palmer started and nearly fell down, but managed to retain his balance. "Michelle!" he cried out, peering over the edge and adopting an expression that was not unlike an excited puppy. "I mean—What man art thou that thus stumblest on my counsel?"

Agent Lee stared up at him with a slightly raised eyebrow. "I'm not a man, Jimmy."

Palmer ears turned slightly red and he grinned to make up for it. "Oh, I know that." He cleared his throat and continued awkwardly, as if he were reading from a sheet of invisible paper, "A maiden blush does bepaint my cheek, for that which thou has heard me speak tonight. I pray, tell, do you love me? I know thou will say 'Aye'—"

"Jimmy!" Agent Lee called exasperatedly. "I didn't agree to meet you here so you could spout off weird poetry. Just come down. Now." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, right, of course," Palmer replied, stumbling over himself to get down the stairs, still grinning his goofy grin.

_A voice calls within_

_ No! The stairwell prop isn't designed to hold any weight—_

Unfortunately, Palmer didn't quite hear this mysterious voice. The moment he set foot on the stairs they collapsed in a shower of painted styrofoam and cheap cardboard.

"What the—?" Palmer shouted as he fell. A conveniently loud 'bleep' rung through the bullpen and cut off the rest of his outburst.

"Jimmy!" Agent Lee cried, rushing over and digging him out of the styrofoam rubble. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. . ." said Palmer slowly, rubbing his head and plucking a fluffy white chunk of foam from his ear.

Agent Lee smiled. "Good." Then she dragged Palmer by the collar of his shirt behind the broken stage prop where the two of them disappeared. Moments later gasps and moans were heard, and a hot pink leopard-print bra flew up into the air.

A C T IV

s c e n e iv

"Yes, I promise," Abby said exasperatedly into her phone, "Now is she coming or what?" she demanded.

"Yeah, she's just left," McGee's reply came over the line.

"Great," Abby said smiling happily, "Good work, McGee." Hanging up the phone she turned to face her newest co-conspirator. "Ziva is on her way down," she relayed.

"Do I even want to know how you roped Agent McGee into this, as well?" Director Shepard asked with a raised eyebrow.

Abby just grinned, "I didn't threaten him. Honest," she replied, ignoring the look the director gave her. "Now remember," she added, "You just talk about how great Tony is, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Abby, are you positive this is such a great idea?" Jen asked, one last time, knowing the outcome would be no different than any of the previous times she had asked.

"Of course!" Abby replied excitedly. "It will be good for both of them."

Jen gave her a skeptical look, and sighed, "Alright, but if they kill each other. . ."

"Nonsense," Abby said dismissively, "They won't kill each other. . . well, probably not anyway."

Just then the elevator door chimed signaling someone's arrival on the floor. Pitching her voice, so that it could be heard clearly from the hall outside her lab, Abby began, "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, "I can't believe Ziva doesn't know!"

Jen rolled her eyes at Abby's performance, but diligently recited her own lines, "Well, it _is _Tony we're talking about," she said, "He is one of the agency's best undercover agents for a reason, you know. If he doesn't want her to know, she's not going to find out from him."

"Oh, but someone has to tell her!" Abby practically squealed.

"I don't know, Abby," Jen said using her best 'director' voice. "Perhaps we should let Tony make that decision."

"But you don't know how miserable he is!" Abby said dramatically. "He's been in love with her so long. I just know he's never going to do anything about it."

"Well, maybe that's for the best," Jen said after a moment, as though she had needed time to contemplate her answer. "After all, imagine how torn up he would be if she refused him."

"Who could refuse Tony?" Abby wondered aloud. "I mean he's so smart and handsome, and funny!"

"Yes, but this is Ziva remember?"

"That's true," Abby replied, "She's so. . . Mossad. Sometimes, she just seems, I don't know, cold. I sometimes wonder if she has any notion of real love at all." Abby sighed, "I guess you're right, it probably wouldn't be good if she knew of his love. She'd just make sport of it."

"Yes, that's probably true. After all, she seems to enjoy tormenting Tony on a daily basis as it is, no need to add fuel to the fire."

"I suppose we must just let it be then," Abby said sadly. "Poor Tony, we must let him continue to hide his love, wasting away inwardly. Better that than die with her mockery."

"It's for the best Abby," Jen assured her.

"I know, but it's just so sad. I mean he told me he's been in love with her for ages. And he's such a sweet guy, I hate to see him so miserable."

"I know, Tony is one of the best agents I've ever worked with, and he's a great man too," Jen said, "But there isn't really anything we can do."

"Yeah," Abby said deflated. "So, I hear you're going to a play tonight?" she added changing the subject.

"Yes," Jen replied, "Ducky was unable to go, and he graciously offered me his ticket."

Outside the lab Ziva slipped away, not hearing any more of their conversation. She took the stairs, lest they hear the elevator and catch her. She had not meant to eavesdrop on her friends, but old habits died hard, and she had long ago learnt that eavesdropping was a good way of gaining valuable intel.

This intel, however was not like any she had encountered before. "Can this be true?" Ziva wondered aloud, stunned by the news, "Do they really think I'm so heartless? That I don't care for him? He is my partner! Of course I care about him. Like he cares for me. But love? Certainly I would have known. . . but they seemed so sure. . ." she muttered as she climbed the stairs. All she could think of now was Tony, the way he looked at her, his silly smiles, the concern she saw in his eyes whenever they had a close call, the way she sometimes caught him just looking at her. . . perhaps it was true? "Oh Tony," she whispered softly, "Love on, I will requite thee."

* * *

~tbc~


	5. Act V

Oh, yeah, hi guys, remember us?

Didn't think so.

Anyway, we'll just pretend we totally didn't fall off the face of the earth. (We were going to pretend we had an excuse, but uh, well...) Hope you enjoy this last chapter.

* * *

A C T V

s c e n e i

Tony was seated at his desk, alone once again in the bullpen. Ziva had left to go down to Abby's lab sometime ago, and he really was not sure where McGee and Gibbs had disappeared to now. He tapped his pen on the desk top, and contemplated the news he had learned earlier in the day.

Ziva was in love with him, and he was in love with her. Therefore, it should be a simple matter to speak with her, and admit his feelings to her. And yet . . .

Sighing, Tony stared down at the blank sheet of paper on his desk. Why he had thought to write to her, the woman whose desk was approximately two feet from his own, he would never know. Yet for some reason, about twenty minutes ago, it had seemed like a good idea.

Now, twenty minutes and a dozen or so crumpled sheets of paper later Tony was beginning to rethink his original assessment. "It is quite clear I was born without the gift of words," he muttered to himself.

The entire concept of not knowing how to approach a woman was a very foreign concept to him. Talking with women, especially attractive women like Ziva, was some what of a specialty of his. Unfortunately, he had a strong suspicion that none of his usual pick-up techniques would fly with Ziva.

"Damn it," he swore, dropping his pen. "This is not working."

"What is not working?" Ziva asked as she appeared from around the corner without warning.

Tony jumped at her sudden arrival. "Don't do that," he complained.

Ziva grinned at his discomfort, but it did not seem the same as it usually did. Ziva seemed a little unnerved, and it seemed to Tony that she was looking at him as though seeing him for the first time.

"You okay?" he asked, as she headed for her own desk.

"What? I am fine," Ziva replied sitting down.

"You sure? You look a little, I don't know, rattled," Tony explained. After all, Ziva never looked even the slightest bit fazed by pretty much anything they saw, and it concerned Tony that she seemed upset.

"Perhaps I am just tired, we did just finish a very disturbing case," Ziva said quietly.

"Yeah," Tony replied, thinking back on the many bodies that had accumulated during their investigation. "There anything I can do?"

Ziva shot him a strange look, "Why would you wish to do something for me?" she questioned.

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as he forced himself to meet Ziva penetrating gaze. He had to think of something to breech the subject, and he had to think of it now. But what to say? Everything he had managed to come up with, just seemed so, corny. "Because," Tony stammered, "Because there is nothing in the world I care for as much as I care for you," he blurted. Blinking in surprise at his own admission Tony blushed. "That's weird isn't it?" he muttered.

Ziva just stared at him a long moment and Tony was about to open his mouth and take it all back, make some stupid joke or something, anything to get her to stop looking at him like that, but finally Ziva seemed to find her voice. "No," she said with a small shake of her head. "It's not weird. For, I . . . I was about to say the same thing."

"You were?"

Ziva nodded and looked away coyly, "Yes, I, I think I love you Tony."

Standing up, Tony crossed the distance between their desks. "Really," he asked suggestively. "And just what about my charming persona has attracted you?"

Ziva smiled, like Tony, she clearly felt more comfortable falling back into their usual banter. "Oh, I don't know," she replied. "It could have been your juvenile antics, or perhaps your incessant need to quote movies. Or maybe it was that cute look you get just after Gibbs head-slaps you." Ziva paused a moment then added more seriously, " I think maybe it was everything together."

Tony smiled genuinely at her, and she continued, "So tell me then, what is it about me that caused you to first suffer love?"

"Hah, suffer love," Tony repeated. "Isn't that true. I mean of all the women in the world I could fall for, I fall for you, the only one who could, and given the chance would, kill me with a paperclip."

"I don't actually need the paper clip," Ziva quipped smiling up at Tony innocently.

A C T V

s c e n e ii

Some time later Ducky walked into autopsy. The stunning total of nine bodies that had accumulated from the case had finally been taken care of, and he knew them to be stored in the drawers. That was why he found it so odd to see an extra body lying on one of the autopsy tables.

"What in the world. . ." Ducky murmured as he moved over to the autopsy table. He was shocked to find none other than Agent Lee lying fully clothed on the autopsy table.

"My dear, what are you doing?"

Lee cracked one eye open, and it widened to about the size of a quarter. "Dr. Mallard! I was. . . just resting!"

Ducky stared at her dumbfounded for a moment or two before clearing his throat. "Yes, well I'm afraid you'll have to rest somewhere else. This is an autopsy room not a hospice."

"Uh, oh yes, right," Agent Lee agreed, sitting up and dusting herself off. She gave Ducky a somewhat vacant smile and disappeared into the back room. Ducky thought of calling out to her to tell her she had gone the wrong way, but he exprected she would realise on her own and come back out soon enough.

Only she never did.

"Oh dear," Ducky murmured to himself.

Just then Palmer walked into the room, grinning widely and holding what looked like a small container of some sort. His grin faltered and vanished upon the site of Ducky, and he attempted to hide the container behind his back.

"D-doctor Mallard! You haven't happened to have seen Agent Lee have you?"

Ducky frowned. That boy was running an awful lot of errands for Agent Lee these days.

"As a matter of fact, I just spoke with her, Mr. Palmer. Unfortunately, she seemed to be quite distracted, and walked out the wrong door – I was just going to check on her."

"Oh, I can do that!" Palmer said quickly. He scooted past Ducky and then disappeared into the through the same door Agent Lee had gone through.

Scratching his chin, Ducky went to his desk to retrieve the file he'd come for, and left with only a momentary glance at the back room. It wasn't until ten minutes later that he returned, realising he'd forgotten a form, only to find his autopsy assistant lying on the table this time. Not only that, Palmer was saying the strangest things.

"I will kiss thy lips, hoping some poison does yet hang on them to make me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm! Oh happy dagger! This is thy sheath—"

"Mr. Palmer! What in heaven's name are you doing?"

Palmer started and dropped the scalpel he had picked up off the nearby table.

"Rom—I mean, Michelle's dead!" he cried, distraught.

"What?" said Ducky.

"She's poisoned! Oh woe—"

"I'm not dead!" Agent Lee shrieked indignantly, popping up from the other side of the autopsy table. Her hair was badly ruffled, her shirt was on backwards, and a strange rash of pinkish red blotches had broken out across her face. "And I'm not poisoned! I'm only _mildly_ allergic to latex!"

Ducky looked between the pair of them and cleared his throat loudly.

"I do believe you will find better help for that affliction at a hospital, this, however, is an _autopsy room_."

"Y-yes, Dr. Mallard," said Palmer meekly. He and Agent Lee promptly skittered out the door.

A C T V

s c e n e iii

Dressed in a stylish black dress, Jen stepped into the theatre with the other play-goers. It was about half an hour before the performance so Jen took her time to wander through the elegant old building before making her way to her seat.

A red velvet curtain was drawn across the stage and the audience was slowly starting to fill as people made their way to their seats. Jen made her way down the aisle to find her seat. She was pleasantly surprised to find herself in the very front row of the balcony section, giving her an excellent view over those below her on the floor level.

Her seat was on the end of the row, and three of the four seats next to hers where full. The one right next to her seat, however, was as of yet unoccupied.

Sitting down she smiled awkwardly when the young woman two seats over smiled at her.

"Is Ducky not coming?" The woman asked politely.

"Hmm?" Jen replied a little startled. "No, he had other business to attend to. He gave me his ticket."

"Oh, that's too bad," the woman said, "He does love all the Shakespearian works the best."

Jen nodded, "That does sound like Ducky," she agreed.

"But what about his other seat?" the woman questioned, gesturing to the seat between them.

"His other seat?" Jen asked confused.

"Oh, Ducky always brings a friend," the woman said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "He didn't give you them both?"

"No," Jen replied, suddenly wondering if perhaps there had been another motive behind the good doctor offering her his ticket to the play.

"Oh, well perhaps he gave it to another friend then," the woman said. "In fact I think I see someone coming now."

_Enter Jethro._

Jen looked around but could see no one coming their way. "You do?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure of it."

_Enter Jethro. Stage left. _

"I still don't see. . ." Jen replied.

_ENTER JETHRO. _

Gibbs suddenly appeared at the entrance of the balcony level. He looked remarkably handsome in his black suit jacket and dark pants. Slowly he starting walking down the aisle toward them. Jen just stared at him. Gibbs, at a play? It was not something she'd ever thought she'd see.

"Hello Jen," he said casually, as though they were passing each other in the elevator at work, though she could tell, if she looked very closely, he looked a little out of his element.

"Jethro," she replied when she finally managed to find her voice. "I didn't expect to see you here."

His only response was a small grunt as he slipped past her into the seat. The woman on his other side just smiled a friendly smile at them both. "I hope you enjoy the play in Ducky's place," she told them.

"I'm sure we will," Jen responded for them both, when it became clear Gibbs was not going to.

Soon the theatre lights dimmed, and the curtains rose revealing the actors on stage. Knowing better than to speak during the performance, Gibbs and Jen watched the first portion of the play in silence.

Jen was not sure what to think about Gibbs' presence. On the one hand, he was a friend of Ducky's and it was technically possible that the doctor could have simply offered him the ticket as he had with her. But then, on the other hand, Gibbs was most definitely_ not_ a play person. He was a go down to the basement, drink bourbon, and build a boat person. Therefore some coercion must have taken place on someone's part for him to even be here. And then there was the entire matter that Ducky had not told her of the second seat, and had most definitely not mentioned Gibbs coming.

Add to all that, hers and Gibbs' former relationship and all her of finely tuned instincts from her years as a NCIS agent were screaming set up. Whose she was not quite sure.

When the curtain finally dropped at intermission, Jen got up from her seat, all too aware of Gibbs getting up behind her. She made her way out into the common room outside, and turned around, and found herself face to face with Gibbs.

"So," Gibbs began, "do you want to tell me why I am here?"

"I wha—?" Jen stammered.

Gibbs fixed her with his piercing blue eyes. "Going to a play does not really sound like something I would do with my spare time," he told her seriously.

"Yes, I had that same thought," Jen replied. "I kinda thought maybe someone was trying to set us up," she confessed.

"Hmm," Gibbs said, as though he was considering the idea. "I suppose then it would be expected of me to do this," he said as he leaned in and kissed Jen.

At first Jen stiffened in surprise, but soon she leaned forward into the kiss. Gibbs placed a hand on her cheek as he deepen the kiss. "Jethro," Jen whispered breathlessly as he finally broke the kiss.

Riiipp.

The sound of paper tearing filled McGee's apartment as he tore the sheet out of his type writer. Silently he re-read the last paragraph to himself.

_At first Jess stiffened in surprise, but soon she leaned forward into the kiss. Tibbs placed a hand on her cheek as he deepen the kiss. "LJ," Jess whispered breathlessly as he finally broke the kiss._

Mentally head-slapping himself, McGee wondered just what the hell he had been thinking. Gathering up all the papers scattered around from his hours of work he quickly fed them all through the shredder kept next to his desk.

Wearily he pushed back his chair and headed for his bedroom. Maybe tomorrow he would come up with a new idea for his next book he thought as he walked into his room, barely sparing a glance for the large book left lying on his counter. One of Sara's she had forgotten at his house by mistake. The title standing out against the plain black cover – _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare._

_

* * *

~fin~_


End file.
